Scars and Sovereignty

Tag: Leviticus

  • From the Heart, On the Hearth

    From the Heart, On the Hearth

    Day 48

    Leviticus 6-7 | Romans 11:1-24

    I first listened to today’s Bible reading rather than reading it myself. And as I was listening to Leviticus 6:9, when God is giving instructions about the burnt offering, what I heard was:

    “It shall be from the heart.”

    That captured my attention. But when I sat down with my Bible in hand, I, of course, realized what it actually says:

    “It shall be on the hearth.”

    Yes, I had misheard it—but maybe it wasn’t an accident.

    Because it made me think: How often have I given an offering that wasn’t truly from the heart?

    When Giving Felt Like a Burden

    I remember being a young adult, even in college, sitting down to write my tithe check. But instead of worship, my mind was filled with anxiety.

    Ten percent is just too much.

    Maybe I’ll shave a little off this time.

    Maybe I just won’t give this month.

    And more times than I’d like to admit, I’d close the checkbook without writing anything at all.

    Fast forward to today. Talacey and I have been married nearly two decades, and if there’s anything we’ve learned over those years, it’s this:

    God is faithful. And we can’t afford not to trust Him.

    Giving isn’t about obligation. It’s about trusting the One who provides—even when we don’t know how the provision will come.

    Looking Back at God’s Faithfulness

    It’s that time of year when the mailbox is full of W-2s, 1099s, and charitable giving statements. Ours from church arrived the other day—a detailed list of everything we gave last year.

    It was a big number. Bigger than we expected.

    Talacey and I looked at each other and could only say, “Praise God.”

    Not because we’d been faithful—but because He had.

    We thought back over this past year. The hospital bills that should have buried us. The ambulance and helicopter costs that should have drained us. The therapy expenses that should have stretched us.

    But God.

    Somehow, every bill has been handled. Somehow, we’ve lacked nothing. Somehow, His provision has never failed.

    Looking at that giving statement, I didn’t regret the ten percent we did give—I felt regret that we hadn’t given more. Not because God needs our money, but because we need the reminder that He is our provider.

    Don’t get me wrong: God’s provision isn’t always financial. But it does always means we are held.

    An Ever-Burning Fire

    Leviticus 6:9 doesn’t just say the burnt offering should be on the hearth. It says:

    “The fire of the altar shall be kept burning on it.”

    The fire never went out. The priests were commanded to tend it continually, night and day.

    And that’s what giving—said differently: worship—is supposed to look like.

    Not a once-in-a-while tithe. Not a reluctant act of duty. Not a sporadic, guilt-driven gesture. But a fire that never goes out—a life lived in worship, fueled by gratitude for the faithfulness of God.

    God’s Faithfulness, Not Ours

    That’s the exact heart of Romans 11.

    Israel had failed. Over and over. They had turned away from God, rejected Him, sinned against Him—but He had not abandoned them. Paul reminds us:

    “God has not rejected His people whom He foreknew.” (Romans 11:2)

    And in verse 29, he gives this promise:

    “For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable.”

    Our faithfulness wavers. His never does.

    Our sacrifices fall short. His was perfect.

    Our worship burns low. His mercy never dims.

    A Fire That Never Fails

    I once held back my offering, afraid I wouldn’t have enough. But how could I ever doubt the provision of a God who has never failed me?

    In that tabernacle, fire on the altar never went out. Nor did God’s provision.

    May my worship burn just as steady.

    Lord, You have been so faithful. Let my giving—my worship—not be out of duty, but out of gratitude. Keep the fire burning in my heart, not just on the hearth. Amen.

  • When Sin Becomes Known

    When Sin Becomes Known

    Day 47

    Leviticus 4-5 | Romans 9:30-10:21 | Proverbs 4

    There’s a phrase in Leviticus 4:14 that I can’t let go:

    “When the sin which they committed becomes known…”

    How terrifying is that?

    Sin isn’t always intentional. Sometimes, we do wrong without even realizing it. And yet, ignorance doesn’t erase guilt.

    That’s exactly what Leviticus 4-5 describes:

    • “If a person sins unintentionally… and does any of them…” (Lev 4:2)
    • “If the whole congregation of Israel sins unintentionally and the thing is hidden from their eyes…” (Lev 4:13)
    • “When a ruler has sinned, and done something unintentionally against any of the commandments of the Lord his God…” (Lev 4:22)
    • “Though he does not know it, yet he is guilty and shall bear his iniquity.” (Lev 5:17)

    We don’t mean to. But we do.

    That’s unsettling. How many times have I spoken too quickly, made a careless judgment, or let my heart drift in ways I wasn’t even fully aware of?

    Like when I let frustration creep into my tone with Sophia over something trivial, then realize later she was just trying to connect with me.

    Or when I scroll past a brother’s prayer request without a second thought, only to remember later that I promised I’d pray for them.

    Or when I mentally criticize a colleague during a meeting, unaware of the weight they’re carrying that day.

    Or when I let a subtle pride settle in my heart—because I’d never do that—until I realize, much later, that I already have.

    It’s not just the sins we deliberately commit—it’s the ones we don’t even notice. The ones that, at the time, felt harmless.

    Leviticus lays out an entire system of sacrifices to deal with this reality. The people needed to atone for even the sins they didn’t intend. A blood sacrifice had to be made every time.

    And then we turn to Romans.

    Romans 10:9 gives us something so simple, it almost feels too simple:

    “If you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.”

    That’s it? No elaborate system of offerings? No endless cycles of guilt and sacrifice? Just confess and believe?

    It feels too easy—until you realize why.

    The entire structure of Leviticus pointed to a greater sacrifice. Every lamb, every bull, every drop of blood spilled for the sins of the people was just a shadow of what was to come.

    The final Lamb would be sacrificed once for all.

    Tonight, Talacey, Sophia, and I watched The Case for Christ. Toward the end of the film, after months of research and intellectual wrestling, Lee Strobel sits across from his mentor, who says something simple:

    “At some point, you have to stop running and just make a decision.”

    That’s the moment.

    He had pored over historical evidence. He had tried to disprove the resurrection. He had exhausted every avenue of reason. But in the end, the answer was so simple it was offensive to his pride.

    Just believe.

    Romans 10:9 is that moment for all of us.

    We don’t have to keep striving. We don’t have to clean ourselves up first. We don’t have to figure everything out. The work is already done.

    Confess. Believe. Be saved.

    And while Leviticus reminds me of the weight of my sin, Romans reminds me of the freedom Christ has given me from it.

    Lord, open my eyes to the sin I don’t even see. Convict me, cleanse me, and remind me that Christ has paid it all. Let me rest in that grace today. Amen.

  • Fire and Flood

    Fire and Flood

    Day 46

    Leviticus 1-3 | Romans 9:1-29

    We’ve all heard the phrase “fire and flood.” People use it to describe chaos, usually with a smirk, because it’s never literal.

    Except today. Today, it was literal.

    There’s an atmospheric river over Central California this week, which means rain—lots of rain. So much that I could barely see my neighbor’s house through my office window earlier today. And while I love the sound of rain, our newest family member—Sadie, that sweet and angelic little yellow lab puppy—has quickly decided she does not.

    Twice today, we went outside for her to do her business. Twice, she stared at the downpour, made a hard pivot, and ran straight back inside. Twice, she left me a little surprise on the tile floor instead. And that was just the beginning.

    Because then came the flood.

    Two inches of rain had fallen in the last twelve hours. My backyard drains couldn’t keep up. And since the original landscaper thought sloping synthetic grass toward the house was a great idea, water was pooling on my patio—creeping closer to my back door like it had an agenda.

    Then the fire.

    I was sitting in my living room chair, Bible open, starting today’s reading when I saw a flash out of the corner of my eye. I looked up, and I kid you not—sparks were flying from the landscape light beneath the pomegranate tree behind my pool. Before I could even stand, flames erupted from the base of the tree.

    I yelled, “There’s a fire!” as I jumped up, sprinted toward the garage for the fire extinguisher, then remembered I had left the garden hose in the pool. So I changed course and bolted outside. By the time I got there, thick smoke had filled the yard.

    So there I was in the pouring rain—barefoot, in nothing but a T-shirt and basketball shorts, with only 80% of my fingers functional—trying to put out a fire that could have taken out the entire neighborhood. With a garden hose. A kinked garden hose. One that stretched across the pool, with the kink just out of reach, forcing me to yell for Talacey to unkink it before I could unleash my inner firefighter on the growing flames.

    You can’t make this stuff up. It was a scene straight out of the movie Marley & Me.

    And that brings us to Leviticus.

    Leviticus opens with God’s instructions for burnt offerings—offerings that were required, that had to be done a specific way, and that were pleasing to Him. The fire that consumed those sacrifices wasn’t accidental. It was purposeful. Holy.

    My backyard inferno? Not so much.

    But it made me think—God’s fire always has a purpose. The burnt offerings in Leviticus pointed to something greater, a sacrifice that was yet to come. And that’s why Romans 9 fits so perfectly here.

    Paul’s heart in Romans 9 is heavy. He’s wrestling with God’s sovereignty, with Israel’s rejection of Christ, with the hard truth that not all who are descended from Israel belong to Israel. And then he lays down these words:

    “So then it depends not on human will or exertion, but on God, who has mercy.” (Romans 9:16)

    Not on our effort. Not on our striving. Not on our attempts to clean ourselves up or make ourselves acceptable.

    Nothing but mercy.

    The fire of Leviticus was a picture of the judgment we deserved. But the cross of Christ became the final burnt offering—the perfect, once-for-all sacrifice that took the flames in our place.

    And if we are in Him, we are not consumed.

    We are chosen.

    “I will have mercy on whom I have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion.” (Romans 9:15)

    It’s all grace.

    And while my backyard nearly burned down today, I am reminded: the fire of God’s judgment will never touch me. Because it already touched Christ.

    Lord, thank You that my acceptance before You depends not on my efforts, but on Your mercy. When I am tempted to rely on my own strength, remind me that You have already provided the perfect sacrifice. Keep me resting in Your grace. Amen.